Aftermath
by Dymond
Summary: Joanne comes to terms with her mortality, and finds it's hard living with a death sentence. [postRENT MoJo MarkJoanne friendship]
1. Invincible

**Warnings: **HIV/AIDS, mentions of death

**I do not own _RENT_. **

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**Aftermath**

Chapter One: Invincible

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Joanne used to believe she was invincible.

I mean, at one point didn't we all? But for the longest time Joanne believed that somehow, someway, she would always make it out of whatever situation she had gotten herself into. It was probably the people she grew up around that led her to this belief. She had never watched people fight for their lives on a daily basis, so she never thought she could end up as one of those people.

Until she met Maureen, and then Maureen's friends, and then the people that came to Maureen's protests. Then she saw what it was like and suddenly death was all around her. But her own mortality never really hit her until _that_ day.

That horrible day when her life was forever altered in the worst of ways. That day when Maureen came home late crying, and crying, and crying so hard she couldn't say anything. She just handed Joanne the paper with their fate written on it.

The first things she thought were _this couldn't be happening to us, how am I going to tell my parents, _and_ how am I going to tell_ Mark?

She didn't cry or yell or say anything except to tell her still sobbing girlfriend that she was going for a walk.

She walked aimlessly for hours it seemed, letting her feet go where they felt like. She was attempting to avoid thinking, because that would lead to conversations she didn't want to have with herself. She walked until she saw a familiar face filming on a street corner.

"Mark," her voice cracked. He turned to her and she spoke again before he could say anything.

"Mark, Maureen and I, we're…we're positive." All the emotion she had been holding back suddenly crashed to the surface and she collapsed into his shocked arms, clutching to his striped scarf while she cried for the first time in a long time.

Joanne no longer believed in being invincible.

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**Words: **329

This was written for speedrent challenge 185.

Review, my darlings.

Dymond


	2. Tested

**Warnings: **HIV/AIDS, cheating, mentions of suicide

**I do not own _RENT._**

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**Aftermath**

Chapter Two: Tested

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She was sitting on a tacky green leather couch in the waiting room of the clinic wondering why the hell it was so cold in here. This was just to keep the other thoughts at bay, which would keep her from breaking down.

She shifted a little and Mark looked up from his hands that were folded in his lap. He gave her the faintest impression of a smile and she just looked down at the carpet again.

She had been living with him for the past three weeks because she couldn't go home to the apartment she shared with Maureen. She couldn't look at Maureen, couldn't think about Maureen, but couldn't stop Maureen from being in her dreams every night.

The drama queen had come by the loft two days after _that _day, begging and pleading for Joanne to come back. Because baby, I'm sorry, it was an accident, honey, I was drunk and angry, and I didn't mean to, pookie, honey, I never would have slept with him if I had known he was positive, baby, I'm sorry… Joanne had yelled that she shouldn't have cheated in the first place; that she needed some distance for a while, and that she was going to stay here in the loft.

Mark had come back later that afternoon and briefly he wondered why Joanne was curled up sleeping on the ratty old couch.

That evening, after Joanne had woken up and explained to Mark in as few words as possible about Maureen's visit, they set up Mark's projector and were watching his old reels of film.

She had been laughing because there had been a clip of Collins and Roger, drunk, singing Christmas carols on the fire escape, but her breath caught when the next clip started to play. The red is what stood out most, her red blood splashed all over the white tiles of the bathroom, her red hair just peeking out over the rim of the bath tub, her red lipstick on the mirror writing out her last horrible message telling Roger of his fate.

Now Joanne's fate as well.

She stood up and slammed the projector off. Mark made no move to stop her, just sat there silently watching.

"It should be illegal to film things like that," she whispered, her voice heavy. "Why would you want to document things like that? Why remember the bad moments?"

"Because," Mark whispered back, "if I forget what a bad moment feels like, I won't know a good moment when I encounter it."

And Joanne had almost cried again, wondering why the hell this had happened to her and why the hell so many bad things had happened to Mark.

It was the next morning when Mark had quietly suggested that Joanne should go get tested, because after all she had only seen Maureen's results and there was chance she hadn't given it to her.

She knew that that was impossible, but didn't say as much and promised to go, if it would make Mark feel better.

And now, here she was, two weeks later waiting for her results. Waiting, waiting, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. She took a deep breath and attempted to drown out the annoying whirring of the overhead fan.

Finally they called her name, and Mark gave her hand a squeeze that was meant to be reassuring, and a nameless nurse led her back to the exam room. She knew what the results were going to be. She knew by the way that the nurse avoided looking in her eyes. When the doctor entered the room, she knew by the way he sighed when he sat down across from her.

But even though she knew exactly what paper was going to say, it didn't seem to make that word less shocking, and it didn't stop the tears that came to her eyes.

**Positive.**

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**Words: **650

This was written for speedrent challenge 186.

Review, if you would be so kind.

Dymond


	3. Prescription

**Warnings: **HIV/AIDS, mentions of character death, mentions of gay marriage

**I do not own _RENT._**

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**Aftermath**

Chapter Three: Prescription

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The first time he said it, they both froze.

His breath hitched in his throat; he had looked at her prescription lying on the table and said it without a thought. It was odd – it had been years, but the phrase stilled rolled off his tongue the same way.

She had her hand on the door handle, about to leave for work, because, after all, life doesn't stop for bad news. Part of her wanted to be angry, to turn around and tell him off for saying it, for reminding her that she wasn't normal anymore. But the rational part of her brain reminded her that he was right; she couldn't forget things like this anymore.

So she walked back over to the table and snatched up the half-filled bottle and then left without a word.

The second time he said it, she stiffened and bit her lip.

It was still awkward to be hearing those words again, after they thought they had left them in the graveyard with Roger so long ago. But here they were, back to haunt them.

He watched her for a moment, judging her reaction and then said, "You should take an extra jacket too."

She nodded, before taking the offered jacket and walking out of the loft.

She found herself walking down the streets in no particular direction. It had snowed the night before so it was chilly, but pleasantly so. The sky was overcast with the promise of more snow to come.

It was almost Christmas and the shops she found herself walking past reflected that. She peered into their red and green trimmed windows to look at the trinkets. A pair of blue satin slippers caught her eye and she thought, _Maureen would like those_.

She tried to shake the thought of her lover, but couldn't quite. She wondered what Maureen was doing now; was she thinking about her? She wondered if she'd picked up a prescription yet.

She fingered her own orange bottle that was sitting in her pocket as she moved on to the next window. This store was having a huge sweepstakes and they were giving away a cherry red convertible.

A memory replays in her mind of a night that she and Maureen spent making plans for forever. They had talked about buying a convertible – it had to be red, red like a cherry, because that was Maureen's favorite color – and they would drive were ever they felt like. They could drive to California and see the ocean, to Canada and get married, to Santa Fe and open a restaurant.

But now, all their talk of forever seemed so far away from the here and now. The freedom they once had was now replaced with a prison that had bars made of orange translucent bottles. And those three little words were a daily reminder of how everything had suddenly gone wrong.

She shook her head and kept walking, kept window-shopping for things she couldn't afford.

The third time he said it, she inhaled sharply.

They were getting more used to it now, falling into a familiar rhythm that hadn't been familiar for a long time.

He walked into the loft and she was sitting on that ratty old couch nursing a cup of steaming tea. He noticed the prescription on the table that she was staring at and he let himself say those words.

"Take your AZT."

Joanne looked down at the couch, but after a moment looked back up at Mark. She gave him the faintest trace of a smile.

"I will."

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**Words: **595

This was written for speedrent challenge 200, which was to choose four past challenges, one from each section of fifty challenges and the ones I chose were challenges 27 (write a Mark/Joanne fic, romance or friendship), 67 (prison), 143 (cherry red convertible), 175 (half, snow, window shopping, slippers).

So yeah. I have ideas for this, but it may or may not be continued. Just depends on whether I get inspired and how much time I have with school starting next week.

Review, please.

Dymond


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